For Her
by Malady7
Summary: Malfoy's life is staked on the death of Hermione Granger. What seems the easiest task in the world rapidly becomes a choice neither of them would have forseen. Oh, how I promised myself I would never write this fic... and yet here it is. Enjoy!


I couldn't have planned it better myself. She was utterly at my mercy, defenseless and wide-eyed with fear. Of course, it would have been better if _I _had been the one to take her down, not some overeager combatant who wasn't too careful where he shot his hexes – but who was I to complain? After today, there'd be no more snide comments, no more empty questions hanging over my head –

(_the boy's weak, Lucius, couldn't kill a flobberworm, never mind -)_

No more. Finally my father would be proud and my mother could stop _defending_ me, like I was some toddler wrongfully accused of throwing sand. No one would doubt my power now that I'd killed the Mudblood Granger.

She'd ended up falling down a flight of stairs. I'd seen it too, and remembered every detail like you remember the faces of the crowd and the blades of grass when you fall off your broomstick. I'd seen the spell – red light, probably _Expelliarmus_ – catch her on her shoulder and twist her torso and throw her _back_. The way she had tried to save herself, windmilling her arms desperately, like she was waving at someone far away. And mostly I saw her face, the look of a girl who has just realized this might be _it_, surprise, fear, and violent rejection, refusing to fall and die.

For a moment it seemed alright – she had it, she was tipping forward again – but then gravity was winning and she fell back with a small intake of breath that seemed as loud as the furious incantations in the corridor behind me.

I nearly dashed for the stairwell then. Maybe if I had everything could have been different. I _think_ I could have grabbed the front of her robes in time, or maybe an arm or a lock of hair – but I didn't. My father's hand held me back. Though he was long dead by then, his invisible leash, gripped even beyond the grave, tightened and I could hear his whisper

"Heel, boy. Wait and see."

So I waited. Every crash and thud of her body hitting the stone steps jarred my bones like an earthquake. It seemed to go on for eternity – _surely the steps at Hogwarts were never this long? _– but finally there was silence.

For a moment I waited even longer, my muscles quivering with apprehension, and then I ran for it, taking the steps two at a time until I rounded the corner and saw Granger.

She was alive. I was suddenly relieved - if only so I could retain the pleasure of killing her myself. I slowed instantly to a leisurely stroll, with a pinch of Malfoy brand strut carefully calculated to make her fume. She had managed to pull herself up to a sitting position, leaning against the statue of an old hump-backed crone. She looked terrible_. Er, more so than usual, _I amended. She was sitting on one leg, the other stretched out in front of her. This she was holding with both hands, grimacing and gasping for breath. She had a lump on her forehead the size of a snitch that was beginning to bruise purple.

In short, she was rather a pathetic sight.

That is, until she saw me. She snarled, and her anger seemed to give her strength. She sat up straight, as though this was class and she had the perfect answer. Her breathing slowed, the ragged edges smoothing.

"Hello, Malfoy. Come to finish me off, have you?"

I smirked, as I so often do.

"Once again you are correct, Granger! My, you really are a genius."

She looked at me thoughtfully.

"You know, I've never actually seen you fighting without your cronies to back you up. I suppose the next step up would be to fight an unarmed and crippled girl!"

I could feel my face color, and I knew she saw it too. Any color on my face is always rather striking.

"Shut it Granger! I'm here to kill you, and you aren't going to talk me out of it!"

This was rapidly going downhill. She wasn't supposed to be doing this – she was supposed to beg for her life, plead for mercy, anything that would make killing her that much more of a triumph.

But she was right. How brave was I! I, who lurked in the shadows until someone did my dirty work, then ran off with the glory.

But she was ignoring me. She was feeling in front of her, looking for something, her eyes glazed with pain.

"Where is it? Damn it!" she muttered.

I took a step forward, and felt something snap beneath my boots. I reached down and picked up the remnants of Hermione's wand, broken cleanly in half. The front was hanging from the back by what looked to be a rather revolting tendon.

"I suppose you were looking for this," I said, in what I had planned to be a smug tone but was startlingly sheepish.

She dropped her gaze and, realizing she might be lost, gathered her best I-knowest-more-than-thou voice and went for the classic approach.

"You don't want to do this, Malfoy!" she began, and I could tell by her voice that this was going to be a long monologue of the type used to stall villains until the cavalry arrived. I suppose that's what they learned in those stupid Defense meetings. "You couldn't kill Dumbledore - !"

But Granger's brilliant plan ended here, because now she had seriously ballsed things up. Hermione thought she had me all worked out, that I was just some poor sod caught up in the middle of something he once thought might be cool, and now wanted out of the gang.

All right, so maybe that _is_ what I was. But for all her Outstanding OWLS and her perfect answers for every question, it turns out that Granger was just a few sickles short of a galleon this time.

See, she had no comprehension of the hours I had spent going over and over Dumbledore's last few moments in my head. She didn't know that through the days I spent in hiding, in Snape's drafty little Lincoln-logs shack, all I had to do was lie on the floor and think. And every second I spent watching spittle fly from Snape's mouth as he screamed out my stupidity, every time I saw my mother, her quiet relief and her concealed disappointment, and yes, even when the Dark Lord himself punished me for my weakness, all I thought, over and over, was that _I deserved every second of it_. I joined the club, didn't I? I signed the blood oath and got the very permanent tattoo, didn't I? I _knew _what I was getting into and now, now it turns out I didn't like what I'd tasted.

I'd get used to it. They all said they got used to it. Killing someone could be as easy as… as insulting a Mudblood. Like something that comes naturally. And I was just about to see how easy it was.

"You're right, I couldn't." I interrupted, and for once my voice was sneer-free, cold, and confident. "I was weak, and unworthy to serve the Dark Lord." Now this was strange, and slightly frightening. What would my father say if he could see my brainwashed subordinate act? But it was an act. I'm sure it was.

Granger quickly took in my emotionless stare and detached tone, and I saw her eyes lose hope, like a candle quickly snuffed out. Maybe she expected more of me. Maybe she hoped I could –

' – but that time is over." Was I still talking? I hoped I hadn't said anything stupid, but Hermione looked like she was busy inventorying her life and probably too occupied with her imminent death to care.

Suddenly I had an idea. It was a wicked, cowardly idea, and being a Gryffindor she was probably too "noble" to even think about it, but…

"If you beg for mercy, I might let you live." I added, dropping the vacant Inferi glare and sounding almost mischievous.

She lifted her eyes again, looking almost annoyed that I had interrupted her thoughts, and gave me a look of withering disdain that was so essentially Granger I nearly laughed.

I have the smirk, she has the whole contempt thing.

I shrugged. "Suit yourself." I said, and raised my wand above my head. No need to say the incantation yet. I knew what was coming.

Any second now it would be "Wait!", and then we could talk. Maybe she'd give me information, or at the very least try the guilt-trip method again. The longer I drew this thing out, the better. The brilliant thing was, I'd lether tell me all her little secrets, and _then _I'd kill her! That would be hilarious! You know, it would be one of those stories people tell when you're all sitting around a fireplace or something.

Ha! She was looking me right in the eye. This was it.

Nothing. She just stared. Her eyes were wide and dark and unblinking, like she wanted to see everything of the world she could before... What did she expect me to do?

Jesus, she was just a girl! So I'd hated her for my entire academic career. Even though she was a dirty-blooded know-it-all, and even though I couldn't count the number of times I've said she deserved to die, I didn't want to be there whenit happened, and I sure as hell didn't want to be the one killing her.

Her eyes were so familiar to me by now. The shame I'd known the first time my father found out a Mudblood had better grades than me, the hatred that coiled and uncoiled deep in my guts every time she raised her hand at the speed of light, and the deep, shocking guilt I felt as I tried to block her face and her eyes out of my mind sometimes long after everyone else had fallen asleep, just looking into her eyes triggered every ache she'd ever suffered me.

I didn't want to look away, or maybe I couldn't, but either way I was feeling very uncomfortable. Besides, my arm was starting to ache from holding my wand up.

_Merlin, would she stop looking at me that way?_

"STOP THAT!" I roared, tearing my eyes away and focusing on the humpbacked statue. "You can't psych me out like that, you stupid bitch!"

"If you want to kill me, you'll do it facing me," she said, ignoring my outburst and sitting perfectly still. "We're not kids anymore. This isn't some… stupid, jealous grudge match. If you are going to take my life, then you'll be man enough to look me in the eye."

"I don't want to kill you." I said, and I didn't. The glory, the doubts erased or whatever, none of it felt real anymore. The only thing that mattered now was our lives, each hanging in the balance of the other. And now I didn't even know whether I was making a mistake or not. Everything was so wrong, and I felt control slipping through my fingers like mercury.

"Then… why do it?" she whispered, and suddenly I realized she was losing consciousness. Obviously, she had once planned to be dead by now, and didn't fight to stay awake.

I told myself I could never kill an unconscious person, but something very large and slimy inside of me told me that it wouldn't matter the slightest whether they were conscious or not. I could never kill a living person. Hell, I was so pathetic I probably couldn't even kill a dead person.

Now what was that supposed to mean? _I must really be going round the bend now, _I thought.  
"Because." I answered, with no intention at all of clarifying. Why do it? To save my own life? Once that would have been plenty good enough reason for me, but what was my life now? To serve You-Know-Who? Even if I ever managed to do the deed, I had a sneaking suspicion I would never get any joy out of killing people, especially certain people. And that Malfoy gene did not let me fancy the idea of serving someone and worshipping them for the rest of my life, short as it would likely be.

"You have to choose something, Draco." she said. The use of my own first name jolted me a little. It was strange, seeing the syllables pronounced on her lips. Almost like hearing someone you know speak a foreign language that you barely understand.

"Listen," she said, so I listened. I heard distant crashes and cries. "The battle is moving on. Soon you'll have to explain yourself, and if I'm not dead – " she coughed three times, her whole body jerking forward, putting more pressure on her broken leg and causing her to gasp with pain.

I kneeled down quickly and pressed her shoulders to the back of the wall to stop her from damaging her already broken body, and just like that it was done. It would be… almost ridiculous now to try and make things go back the way they were. All in this one gesture, made without any conscious decision. I closed my eyes, trying hard not to think.

I've noticed that trying not to think anything tends to make unwanted thoughts burst from every corner of your brain. Thoughts that made me very glad Hermione was not an Legilimens. We were _very_ close, you see.

I could feel her heart beating erratically just by touching her shoulders, and every beat seemed to count the seconds that she still lived. Defying and comforting me.

She stopped coughing. Actually, I realized, she had probably stopped quite a while ago. My fingers dug into her shoulders, and I vaguely wondered if I was hurting her. I opened my eyes, and somehow my face was only inches from hers. She was doing that… staring thing again.

I quickly fell back, scooting backwards across the stone floor like a blond beetle. We both sat there, silently, neither knowing what on earth was supposed to happen next. I don't know what I had expected, maybe a "Thank you" or a "You did the right thing". But she didn't speak at all, as if afraid her next words would undo it all and turn me into some kind of homicidal maniac, which was ridiculous.

I guess I must have seemed like a homicidal maniac to her. The thought was not comforting,

Merlin, I could have killed her! Didn't she give a damn? Wasn't it worth something that I held back? She should be kissing my goddamn boots, the ungrateful little witch!

I stood up and looked down my nose at her, wondering distantly why doing so didn't make me feel any better,

"You can't get out of here with that leg. You should do something about that." I said.

She looked amused, in a pained sort of way.  
"I would, but my wand would now be good for nothing but a very tiny bonfire, thanks to you." she said.

How could she be so glib when my life was as good as lost? The urge to scream at her was now very strong, but… I didn't have the energy. Or I just didn't feel like it.

"Right," I muttered, feeling very stupid. "Er… what's the incantation again?"

Perfect. This was just what she loved, and opportunity to spout her little mouth off and tell me what to do. I would never hear the end of this… if I lived that long.

"It's _Episkey_." she said, without a trace of contempt. It was extremely shocking.

I muttered the incantation, and almost instantly her face cleared of pain, and a small sigh escaped her almost involuntarily. Using the wall as a brace, she pulled herself up, testing her weak leg and finding it satisfactory. She stood, tall and upright, glaring at me with one eye, and beginning to smile.

"Well, I suppose –"

Suddenly her hands flew out as her leg buckled, and before any of this quite registered I had grabbed her elbow and halted her fall. With her other hand she gripped my upper arm, steadying herself and breathing heavily. We caught each other's gaze again, and I quickly dropped her arm like a dead fish.

"Be careful," I said, in a tone that indicated scorn rather than concern. Oh good, I was falling back into the old pattern.

"Your leg is still weak."

She released her grip on my shoulder. Now she would have some scathing reply ready at hand…

She looked up at me again, and I saw something in her eyes that made anger flare up inside me again, only to be quickly quenched by a resigned voice that utterly agreed with her sentiment. It was pity. She pitied the choice I now had to make. Join them, the good guys, save the world instead of ruining it. Maybe I'd die; killed by someone I'd once shared a dormitory with, or a friend of my father's. But at least I'd die – what was the phrase? _For the good of wizardkind_ A truism that meant nothing to me. A Malfoy sticks his wand out for blood, nothing else.

But maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd live to a ripe old age – at least, a relatively ripe one. Maybe I'd live out my days in their headquarters, hidden away in some airless room unable to show my face. They'd keep me there, oh yes, out of that damned Gryffindor sense of social justice. But I would be an unwanted houseguest, like a family of mice you were too squeamish to exterminate.

It was what she expected, the path she thought I would escape down. _Well_, I thought sagely, _screw that_.

"I'm not coming with you." I said.

She wasn't startled, as far as I could tell. I'd like to say she was disappointed, but that would definitely be wishful thinking.

"Why?"

I turned away from her. "Just because I didn't kill you, Granger, doesn't mean I'm on your side. I'm one of the bad guys, remember?"

Hermione said. "You're just… misguided."

_Yeah, that's me,_ I thought gloomily. _Just another misguided teenage delinquent. Don't try to change me, baby._  
"Yeah, well." I muttered, beginning to go deeper into the hall. I would find another way out, maybe one of the secret passages that led to Hogsmeade. The village was practically deserted these days, and once I made it there I would be home free. No use thinking farther ahead than that, but I had heard that Australia was very nice this time of year. Lots of beaches and big deadly things that leap out from behind trees and attack pasty-skinned British tourists. It sounded very appealing.

Not that distance would help me at all practically. To You-Know-Who, distance was about as meaningful as Hermione's "Free the House Elves" society. What was it called? H.U.R.L.? V.O.M.I.T.? Whatever. It would be days, not months, before they found me. Still, it would be nice to see the world.

As I retreated farther into the darkness, I turned for one last look at her. She was still standing where I'd left her, the pathetic remains of her wand dangling from her hand, looking small and lost.

I raised my hand, not quite a wave, just a gesture of acknowledgement.

She didn't move. With a mental shrug, I turned back and trudged down the deserted hall. My footfalls echoed on the stone floor. The suit of armor glared at me disapprovingly. Suddenly, her voice rang out.

"What are you doing?"

I halted, one foot still raised inches above the floor. Exhaling through my teeth, trying to seem annoyed, I placed it squarely on the floor, said;

"I'm walking away, genius."

and continued to do just that. I was almost positive my terse reply would finally silence her, but I should have known. This was Granger, a.k.a., The Walking Mouth.

"You… you come back here, now!"

I almost expected her to append a 'young man' to the end of the sentence. Why wouldn't this girl just let me go, for Merlin's sake?

She was shivering. I could tell by the way her teeth were chattering, even when she was yelling down the hall at me. Maybe she was going into shock. Maybe she needed my help. I mean, I couldn't just leave her there, when she was obviously… chilly.

"I need to know," she said, "I need to know, ok? So, get back here, and, and explain yourself!"

I turned slowly, unconsciously walking back towards her. As I came closer, I let out a hoarse laugh.

"Why? I thought _you_ knew, Granger? I thought I 'didn't want to do this'? I thought I was 'just misguided'?"

I drew closer to her. I am not extravagantly tall, like that Beanpole Weasley. I'd say I am a decent, respectable height. But then, so is Hermione. We were nearly nose-to-nose then, nearly stepping on each other's boots.

"I thought you had all the answers, Hermione! Because if you don't – if you are asking _me_ for answers – then God only knows, because I certainly haven't the foggiest idea '_why'_!"

I wasn't screaming. I made certain not to scream. But I could still tell she was afraid. Don't get me wrong, she was still standing tall, chest out, stomach in, whatever being 'brave' means, but she was still just a scared girl.

Oh please, not of me.

She was scared of what this war was doing to people. Everyone had fallen out of the nice little categories she had so carefully placed them in centuries ago, when we were all snotty little 11-year-olds. Good and evil were getting mixed up, blurring together like lights seen through tears, and it frightened the living Hippogriffs out of Hermione Granger. It scared her more than death, more than pain. More than a crazed ex-arch-nemesis who watched her fall without so much as batting an eyelash.

I didn't want her to be afraid. How wrong is that? I should be reveling in her fear, rejoicing in her pain. Right?

But whatever. I'm over that. I'm over feeling guilty, and, and confused, and angry at myself for wanting to brush the hair away from her eyes, hold her, tell her that everything's going to be fine, even though it won't be. I'm done punishing myself.

I know she saw it.

"I… I thought you hated me," she whispered. "You are supposed to hate me."

I smiled.

"I know. I do love you, though."

She inhaled sharply and looked down. I noticed, with some wonderment, that she was blushing.

I don't know what I expected to feel. Relief, maybe. This deep-dark secret that I had been keeping for millions of years was finally out. Weight off my back, poison out of the wound. From what I have read, relief would have been a logical response.

Or hey, what about embarrassment? The words did sort of slip out unplanned.

Well, Granger's apple-cheeked response was carrying enough of that emotion for the both of us.

The only feeling I could identify at all was exhaustion, mixed with a slowly spreading lack of sensation in my chest. I was just so tired of lying, tired of overcompensating with insults when she caught me staring, tired of making her angry just to make her feel _something_ for me, even loathing.

Was that better? At least when she hated my Slytherin guts she must have somewhat respected me, as an enemy. Now I was just this pitiful Halfling, neither here nor there, good nor evil. _Pa-thetic_, as Pansy would have said.

Hermione looked up, cheeks still red, brown eyes shining (_mud-brown eyes for a Mudblood girl)_ and whispered,

"So stay,"

_For me._

I thought I heard that last part, but her lips hadn't moved. I knew she meant it though. I knew it.

"I… but you don't…" I faltered. Just looking at her chased all rational thought out of my brain. As I recall, she used to do that when Snape called on me in class. Clever of her.

She didn't love me. She couldn't. Hell, if I was her I wouldn't have loved me, and I used to have a very high opinion of myself. What was there to look forward to if I stayed? Watching her grow more beautiful and fascinating, watching another man _take _her?

But she wanted me to stay. _For her_.

Did she need me?

I brushed a strand of her incorrigible hair out of her face. Just one of those itches I had waited a long time to scratch.

She didn't love me, no. But she needed love. She desperately wanted someone to love her regardless, someone who was just _there_, who'd always been there.

Me. Hermione Granger needed me.

And maybe in time…

But now, there was one thing I could give her. It wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start.

Still stroking her hair, I kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. I drew her closer, held her. She put her head on my shoulder. The numbness was gone now, replaced by something like joy that made my arms tingle.

"You'll stay?" she murmured into my neck.

I smiled, kissing her head.

"You need me," I replied.

She laughed, her voice full of tears.

"You need me too," she said.

I blinked, then laughed as well. It sounded odd coming from me, a laugh at the expense of no one. It was nice, laughing like that.

I'd do it.

_For her_.


End file.
